


Hair

by SeverinadeStrango



Category: Sengoku Basara
Genre: Akechi Mitsuhide is His Own Warning, Biting, Blood, Dark, Hair Pulling, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Masochism, Rough Sex, Surreal, Throat Fucking, implied everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 04:22:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17542595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeverinadeStrango/pseuds/SeverinadeStrango
Summary: Mitsuhide cherishes the small reminders, the traces of for what he unrelentingly pines.





	Hair

He kept his hair long and sleek and smooth and meticulously clean all for that reason – the same reason that he would be reminded of whenever he brushed or carefully combed it, long white strands running through his fingers. Only gentle pulls, however. He wasn’t allowed to indulge alone, that was a privilege reserved solely for his master. Lord Nobunaga, over his shoulder, looking down at him hand heavy on his forearm oh god oh god, Mitsuhide closed his eyes and with great difficulty, held still.

A hand threaded up through his hair, into his scalp, clamped down around a fistful of that silky hair and pulled back, hard. Mitsuhide gasped, his head abruptly jerking back so fast and with such intensity that he was surprised he wasn’t bleeding or _dead,_ for whatever reason. Yes. Own me take me consume me until there’s nothing left.

He wanted pain and furthermore he deserved it, teeth sinking into his throat it was his salvation. Show me who I belong to, and Nobunaga, ever the gracious Lord and Protector that he was, complied, blood running over his collarbones and chest in little rivulets. He wanted those, and that, and this, all over. Everywhere, not one inch of unmarred skin to be found. Wouldn’t that be the ultimate pledge? Won’t that please you?

Claws against his scalp, knotting, twisting, tangling, pulling him back and down again and again in rhythm, the other hand on his hip, sharp claws piercing skin, touching bone. Reach inside me and pull out what you wish. If this was what he could be used for, than so be it – Mitsuhide would accept his task eagerly, gladly.

Pulling his hair pushing him down using his throat he wouldn’t be able to speak for days, it was Nobunaga-kou’s wish, he would bear it, he would toss him aside bloodied and bruised and sore and unable to speak save for a few rasping pleas here and there.

How perfect. He would have this every day if he could – but he did not have the privilege to make that decision. He didn’t _want_ it. 

Instead he would silently slink away, he would wipe off the blood, he would untangle his hair, savoring the little remnants of times that were to hopefully come again.


End file.
